


Minn'da

by TheRightPurpleElves



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fluffy, Yes you read that right, alright who let me have a word processor, and I'm sorry, i threw in some humour because it's a magic baby au and why the heck not, magic baby au, they're all alive au, this is the consequence of me reading Consequences, very sweet, with thanks to redisaid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:36:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23535409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRightPurpleElves/pseuds/TheRightPurpleElves
Summary: “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you got all broody. I blame the elves. Their younglings have the temerity to look *cute*."
Relationships: Jaina Proudmoore/Sylvanas Windrunner
Comments: 156
Kudos: 209





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> yes, it's a magic baby au. i refuse to feel shame.
> 
> with massive thanks to Redisaid, whose incredible fic Consequences inspired this dumpster fire, and who very kindly allowed me to borrow the aranel'dorei: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23075320
> 
> and with thanks to useless_lesbean for beta reading! thank you for spotting one VERY embarrassing typo.
> 
> stay safe, everyone <3

“There’s no going back, you know. That podge it’ll leave under your breeches… the shrieking thing attached to your ankles, the one that goes and falls in the sea when you just wanted five minutes alone with your shandy… the one that eats raw molluscs and does an absolutely _enormous-_ ”

“First of all, Mother,” Jaina interrupts, pinching the bridge of her nose, “Tandred did not _fall_ in the sea, Derek pushed him. Secondly, the only person who’ll be seeing that podge is Sylvanas, and she’ll have been jointly responsible for the whole venture so she’d better not complain- and thirdly, there are no molluscs in Quel’Thalas.”

“She’ll find something,” Katherine says breezily. “Mark my words. And it’ll smell _awful._ ” Uncrossing her legs, she leans closer, easy chair creaking softly beneath her weight. “You need to be sure about this.”

“I am very sure.”

“You’ll need to have the utmost trust in the… do I call her the father? Other mother?”

“The _minn’da._ ”

“It had better last until the Tuesday.”

The gimlet-eyed look Jaina casts her way even has Katherine Proudmoore shrinking back a little in apology. “She has my trust, and I hers. And her jokes are better than that. Marginally. But better.”

“Well, that won’t do. I’ll have to dispatch Daelin with all due haste when she’s born. Can’t have Sylvanas letting the side down, can we?” But Katherine’s lips quirk up as she reaches out to place her warm, weathered palm on Jaina’s forearm. “I suppose it was only a matter of time before you got all broody. I blame the elves. Their younglings have the temerity to look _cute._ And you’ll make a fine mother,” she continues, and plumps back against her cushions. “Big heart, big laugh and a bright spark to boot. I’ll keep everything crossed she gets my features. Oh _bollocks,_ DAELIN! WHERE DID WE PUT THE PERAMBULATOR? YOU’D BETTER REMEMBER!”

“We sold it after Tandred said he’d rather be a eunuch,” Daelin hollers back from a few doors down.

Katherine tsks, already reaching for her knitting again. “Well, your father’s going to enjoy his weekend building project. Do you have any names in mind?”

“We’re not calling her Katherine.”

“… Kat?”

“No.”

“Aw. Worth a shot.”

-0-0-

“There’s no going back, you know.”

In the silence of Eversong, Lireesa speaks so suddenly Sylvanas’s knife slips, clattering against the ribs of the deer she’s gutting. “I had realised that,” she says, as evenly as she can, and runs careful fingers over the edge of the pelt. Swallows hard against the dryness rising in her throat. “A child is not impermanent.”

“Children are hard, messy work, my Lady Moon. Messier even than that doe you skin, for the bedside rug your wife does not yet know she’s receiving.” Lireesa places her arrowheads down on her lap, peering at Sylvanas past the smooth forelock of her hair. Above the fire warming their feet, a pot of soup bubbles idly. “There will be times you will ache for the peace and quiet you had before. Your nights will be broken. Your possessions will be “borrowed” and returned in pieces. You will swear to _Belore_ that if they ask “why” one more time, you will throw them in the Elrendar for an impromptu swimming lesson. In fact, Vereesa did end up in the river. Twice.” She sniffs, tilting her chin up. “And one day, they will break your heart by falling for a _human._ Not one of the pretty high elven girls following her around Silvermoon like a flock of particularly gormless sheep. A human. With small ears. Small. Ears.”

Sylvanas feels the flush rising on her face even as her own ears wilt. “I did not choose to fall for a human, _minn’da,_ ” she forces out, staring down at her buckskin-clad knees. “Just as she did not choose to be so witty, so charming, so confident, so beautiful, so… herself, so very Jaina… and make it purely impossible for me not to fall for her.” And she drops her gaze to the blood-spattered grasses. “Her ears do move, you know. Just not very much. And why is that such a bad thing any-”

“ _Belore,_ do not take me seriously, my red-faced romantic. Would that she had been here to hear that little monologue.” Almost-silent footsteps creep closer the moment before Lireesa’s fingers wrap around her own. “But you need to know what a child means. It means vigilance on a level you have never attained before. It means looking past your own needs to care for them and most of all, it means burying your love and your attention and every nurturing moment you can manage into this tiny creature that will repay you by pulling your hair and calling you _menoor-pants_.”

Sylvanas sniffs, her eyes still on their interlinked hands. “That was Alleria.”

“Only because you had thought of something worse by the time you managed to make your p’s. Those baby fangs kept getting in the way. It was adorable.” Her mother’s other hand runs slowly up and down Sylvanas’s knee. “You wait until you hold that little warm weight for the first time. Smell her hair. Touch those soft cheeks. You’ll be almost as proud as I was the first time I cradled you to my chest.”

Lireesa suddenly finds herself pulled tight to her daughter, as Sylvanas hauls her closer and buries her face in her mother’s hunting jerkin.

For a long moment, it is just them and the moon shining idly down, and Sylvanas’s shuddering breaths.

At length she loosens her grip, and watches her mother seat herself calmly back on her tree stump; the firelight is flickering and fading, casting their sharp features into shadow, yet her mother’s eyes shine with an intensity that belies their fatigue this late in the day. “I am placing a lot of trust in my siblings, Minn’da. This would be a poor time for Alleria to stage a prank.”

“If she even thinks of doing such a thing at your _aranel’dorei_ , she’ll find herself mucking out the hawkstriders for the next two hundred years _._ She of all people would know the stress such a ceremony brings.” Lireesa pauses in her carving, the arrowhead held delicately in two fingers. “You will need a gown.”

“ _Belore,_ Minn’da, I will be perfectly at ease in my-”

“Jaina was telling me only last week how she _loved_ seeing you in a gown at the Midsummer Fire Festival. I knew it wasn’t the bonfire making her cheeks so red.”

“I will tolerate it this once.”

“Wonderful!” Leaping to her feet, Lireesa reaches to give the soup one final stir and snatches their bowls up from her hunting pack. “And on that note, let’s get some soup into you before you pass out on that rock. I can tell you all about burping.”

“… Burping?”

“Oh yes! Sometimes they vomit all down your back. Vereesa was legendary for it. Alleria thought it was hilarious until it happened to her.”

“I don’t feel like soup any more, Minn’da.”

-0-0-

“Well,” Vereesa chirps, bumping elbows with a slightly stunned Jaina, “definitely no way back now.”

Windrunner Spire is a blaze of festivity. Lights are strung from every possible anchor on the parapets, the myriad of stained-glass windows brightly backlit with candles that flicker sedately over the throng of elves and humans mingling and drinking and dancing in the courtyard below; Lirath, ever the party animal, is on stage with his lute and a rather tipsy Daelin Proudmoore’s attempts to dance the can-can. Derek hovers nervously by the side of the stage, glancing occasionally to the only door in the Spire that sits closed. His mother is too busy at the wine table with Lireesa Windrunner to pay any heed to her husband’s drunken antics.

Heaving a sigh, Jaina straightens her shoulders. “Sylvanas is hiding, isn’t she.”

“She didn’t call it ‘hiding’, but she’s locked herself in Lirath’s music room with a bottle of Minn’da’s finest, so in an acorn, yes.”

“In a nutshell.”

“Even your nuts live in the sea? _Belore,_ I would hate to be a squirrel in Kul Tiras.” And Vereesa’s gone, hauled into a throng of Rangers who offer Jaina hurried bows and immediately pull each other into a huddle, whispering behind their hands.

Well, time to climb the mast. And maybe Vereesa has a point about Kul Tiran sayings.

Rather than try to navigate her way through the crowd, Jaina flexes her magical muscles and Blinks right past them to thud face-first into the locked door; a quick check of her nose and a mumbled cantrip and she’s scooting through the open door and into the humble little entryway to the right-most spire. To the left, Lirath’s bedroom. To the right, the spiral staircase to Sylvanas’s quarters, stairs she has padded up more times than she cares to remember, stairs she used to smile as she ascended in the knowledge that Sylvanas would hear her coming and would be stood at the top of them waiting for her, arms outstretched and bed ready made.

In front of her, a room with a piano and a harp and a whole selection of Kul Tiran fiddles and an elf in a Windrunner-green gown, plucking at the smallest and shabbiest.

“I suppose you want me now,” the elf says quietly, and the jewellery in her ears clatters softly as they wilt against her scalp. “Before Alleria has too much to drink and hexes us into frogs instead.”

For a moment, Jaina stands. Watches her muscles shift in the backless dress. Watches her brow furrow and twist at each flat note, at each overzealous twang. “She hasn’t drunk a drop,” she says, and smiles at Sylvanas as she swerves, wide-eyed. “I think she may actually be more nervous about this than we are.”

“Impossible,” Sylvanas murmurs. She places the fiddle down with the same care she would afford _Thas’dorah_ or _Thori’dal_ , and eases herself up. The skirt flows like water about her legs. “I have had fewer butterflies in my belly raiding troll settlements.”

“Have you ever _seen_ yourself charging into battle? No wonder the trolls wear brown loincloths.” But she doesn’t raise so much as a smile on Sylvanas’s carefully-painted lips. “Look, I’m about as happy as you are that so many blasted people got invited-”

“Somebody told Lirath.”

“Tidemother’s tits. We should count ourselves lucky it’s this few, then. But all we have to do is go out there, smile at them, stand in that circle and wait for the smoke to obscure us and then it’s just us. Just me, and the wife who brings me a hand-embroidered bedside rug because I whinged one morning that my feet were cold. Us and our future, and… whomever shall be joining us in nine months’ time.” Jaina leans down to press a kiss to Sylvanas’s nose, and another to her lips. “It’s our day. Let nobody spoil it for you.”

A great _crash_ from outside has Sylvanas’s ears shooting upright. “Sorry!” cries Daelin Proudmoore’s muffled voice. “This stage’s a bit wobbly. Or I’m a bit wobbly. Derek? Talk t’me, Derek!”

“Least of all, my pissed-as-a-newt father,” Jaina mutters. Strokes down those long, elegantly-adorned ears until Sylvanas sighs, melting into her wife’s embrace. “Come, _dalah’surfal._ Before anyone else is taken out by a squiffy Lord Admiral.”

Lips press to Jaina’s collarbone, sending a shiver down her body. “Well, when you put it like that,” Sylvanas whispers, and clasps Jaina’s hand in her own. “Let us fetch you one final tipple.”

“As tempting as that sounds, I’d rather we get this over and done with.”

Sylvanas goes rigid in her arms. “Are you having second thoughts? I swear to you, _dalah,_ I am not, though it may look like I am because I’m hiding- I mean thinking on my own- but I’m not hiding from you and I want this too and to that end I am quite happy to tell them all to, what was the phrase you used, _sling their anchors-_ ”

“Vereesa definitely had a point about Kul Tiran language. I don’t want anyone to sling their anchor, and I want this so, so much, and I also want this over and done with so I can take you upstairs and ravish you in that beautiful gown. Understood?”

And Jaina watches with a grin as a slow smirk and a soft flush spread over Sylvanas’s face.

Only for both their smiles to vanish at the cacophony of trumpets from outside, and the muffled holler of “ALL STAND FOR OUR GLORIOUS CROWN PRINCE, KAEL’THAS SUNSTRIDER!”

“Except him,” Jaina mutters. “He can definitely sling his anchor.”

“There’s a rowboat moored at the end of the pier. We can elope.”

“We’re already married, _dalah._ ”

“Ah.”

-0-0-

“You definitely know what you’re doing, Alleria?” Sylvanas keeps her voice low, watching the royal carriage retreat back down towards Windrunner Village and the throng of partygoers bolting for the winery. “For sure?”

“Yes, my dear overwrought sister. Place the gifts you gave one another between you, make sure your hands are linked, throw the blooms in the fire, throw the incense in the fire, and call upon _Belore_ to bless the expectant mother and her partner. And then give Minn’da a handkerchief.”

“I meant whatever you told Kael’thas to persuade them to move down into the village.”

“Ah.” Alleria scratches one ear and attempts a smile. “Look, let’s get this over and done with, and then we can all run for Kul Tiras before they realise that whatever Kael’thas is conjuring from those poor grapes, it’s not wine. Are you ready?”

Sylvanas turns back, and her eyes meet Jaina’s, and the excitement shining in them as her wife extends a hand towards her. “Yes,” she says softly, and reaches to intertwine their fingers. “I’m ready.”

“Perfect!” Grabbing their sleeves, Alleria hustles them into the circle of gently glowing runes, fussing about them like a mother springpaw as the rest of the family approaches, Daelin leaning rather heavily on Katherine. “Stand there.” She rummages in her bag and tugs out the doeskin rug and an engraved skinning knife, placing them in front of their respective owners. “Right there. Don’t move.”

Sylvanas blinks. Jaina’s fingers tighten on hers. “Why, what happens if we move?”

“Don’t know. Let’s not find out, shall we?” And any protests Sylvanas might have had are cut off as the runes fizzle into bright bursts of arcane-scented flames, licking at the ground around them as they huddle tighter on instinct. “Alright in there?”

“Yes,” Jaina calls back. Though her hands are shaking, her face is stretched in a bright beam. “We’re very alright,” she adds in a whisper, and sneaks a kiss before Alleria’s flame-distorted form lifts a book and clears her throat.

“ _Anar’alah belore. Bind’arkhana, bind’aminor. Thas’belore’dorei, rea selama’belore, belono sil’aminor rea dela’dorah.”_

Sylvanas squeezes Jaina’s fingers, watches the flames cast her face into handsome profile. A single tear track sparkles in the lilac firelight.

_“Minn’dae band’sel, sil dalah’arkhana rea sil’elu’me. Felo’shala, ashal’dela thas’alah.”_

Jaina’s shuddering breath tickles Sylvanas’s cheekbone. In that moment, when all she can see is Jaina’s eyes glimmering, she feels her own breath catch in her chest.

“ _Malanorae, alorae, minn’dae. Thas’dorei. Shorel’a morin’aminor. Bal’a sil’eigene’medivh. Alleria, don’t bother with any of this paragraph, you just have to say their names, love Minn’da._ And now we shall- _I swear to Belore Minn’da!_ ”

“I didn’t want to interrupt,” Lireesa’s shimmering form gasps, both her and Katherine bent double and clinging to one another. “It sounded lovely, _dalah._ ”

“I’ll give you _lovely,_ ” Alleria hisses. “Sylvanas and Jaina, before we begin, do you wish to ask anything?”

Jaina, shoulders shaking with laughter, shakes her head.

“Sylvanas?”

“Actually, yes.”

“Go ahead.”

“I didn’t know you could read, sister?”

Katherine snorts, claps a hand over her mouth and fumbles a sniggering Daelin to the grass.

“I’m so glad I got the looks and not the wit,” Alleria mutters, and delves in her pocket to throw something into the flames that sends them roaring even higher into the sky. “Behold, the blessing of Azeroth and of Nature.” Another small something hits the fire, and Sylvanas’s hold on Jaina tightens as they are enveloped in sweet-smelling smoke. “Behold, the blessing of Alchemy- _achoo!_ ”

“Bless you,” Jaina calls back.

“No, that’s my bit- oh right, yes, thank you.”

Blindly, Sylvanas reaches up and strokes a soft, full, slightly damp cheek. Feels Jaina’s hand come to rest over her own.

“I can’t wait for this,” Jaina whispers. Sylvanas can hear the smile in her voice. “I will take broken nights and sleepless mornings. I will take endless questions and grubby hands on my breeches. I will take worry and anger and frustration and exasperation, and I will weather all these storms, as long as I have you by my side to steady the rudder.”

Sylvanas swallows against the thickness in her throat and the stinging in her eyes. “The sea is not my friend,” she murmurs, “but if it’s you I sail with, the briny depths hold no fear for me.”

“ _Belore!_ I ask for your blessing, for Sylvanas and for Jaina and for their child, it is done!” The runes blaze with such ferocity Jaina squeaks and grabs Sylvanas closer and the blaze licks at their skin as the arcane closes in on them and Sylvanas’s world is consumed in white heat-

-0-0-

The flames sputter out.

“Well,” Katherine says, rubbing her eyes. “That was dramatic.”

“Why are you surprised, elves made it,” Derek mumbles.

Lireesa peers at the column of smoke just starting to dissipate, swirling away in tendrils on the wind. “My _dalae_?” she calls softly. “You can come out now. It’s all done.” Takes a step closer. “Just us here.”

A tiny whimper from within the blackened grass.

“Sylvanas,” Jaina’s voice croaks. “Say something to me. Please.”

Shoulders slumping, Lireesa lets out a weak laugh. “My poor daughter! I knew her emotions would get the better of her eventually.” She bats at the incense still thick in the air. “Shall we go and have our own party-”

“ _Sylvanas, wake up_.”

Lireesa’s whole body goes cold.

An arrow flies over their heads and scatters the smoke like frightened deer to reveal Jaina knelt on the ground, sobbing into the limp form in her arms.

“Help her,” Jaina cries. “ _Help her!_ ”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope everyone out there is safe and healthy <3
> 
> thank you enormously much to my wonderful beta reader useless_lesbean for a metric tonne of help with this chapter!
> 
> also, two disclaimers:  
> -i am not an expert on pregnancy. not at all. this is a fantasy pregnancy and i am doing my best to be vaguely accurate and quiz people about what they found/didn't find when they were pregnant, but most of it was either 'be careful of fish and seafood' or 'you kept kicking my guts when i was trying to sleep you little shit' so if there are inaccuracies, i can only apologise.  
> -one person called this last chapter. you stole my fire. i applaud you.
> 
> also, a quick warning: the themes of a strained relationship and struggling to conceive are covered in this chapter. i know some may want to avoid these. <3

Whistling idly through her teeth, High Priestess Liadrin marches out of Sylvanas’s chambers only to be seized by the gaggle of elves and humans hiding on the other side of the door.

“And a good morning to you too,” she says, looking pointedly down at the tangle of hands bunching up the front of her tunic.

“What happened?” Alleria demands.

“Is she awake?” Katherine’s voice booms in the small hallway. “Did it fail?”

“Why did she faint?”

“Is she hurt?”

“Is she going to want the hawkstrider twizzlers I saved her from the buffet?”

All heads turn as one to Lirath, whose face flushes. “They’ll go to waste otherwise,” he mumbles.

Liadrin merely raises an eyebrow. “Your concern for your sister is truly touching. If you would all stop using me as a game of tug of war, I’ll-”

Three of the hands are shoved away and Liadrin finds herself torn between Alleria Windrunner and Katherine Proudmoore, and their unexpectedly firm grips. “I’m told I do a very effective Smite,” she says, mildly. “It tingles for _hours._ ”

She’s released so promptly she staggers back a step. “My thanks. Yes, Sylvanas is awake, and very alright,” she continues, rearranging her robes. “My best guess is that she forgot to drink enough before the ceremony. Emotions were running high and it was very warm in the _aranel’dorei_ circle-”

“She couldn’t have done it drunk,” Lirath pipes up. “Not and stay in the circle, anyway. Have you ever seen Sylvanas inebriated? It’s like her knees remember how to run, but her feet don’t. And she starts taking her clothes off after four glasses of-”

“I meant water.”

Lirath opens, and shuts his mouth. “Right,” he says finally. “If we could all keep that last detail between us and Lor’themar Theron. Just as a personal favour.”

Rolling her eyes, Liadrin tugs her priestess’s sash back into place and straightens her shoulders. “Sylvanas is doing just fine. She bruised her elbow when she fell and so she has been given a healing potion. I offer my congratulations to them both and should they require my services later in the pregnancy, I will of course not hesitate to give them. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I must attend an elf with an arrow in a very delicate place and he is not happy to have had to sit this out in my waiting room. Well, stand this out, in his case.”

Lireesa sighs. “Who let Rommath fire a bow?”

“I’m more impressed at the location he managed to hit himself in.” Liadrin offers the gaggle a quick bow and holds the door open for them. “Do not hug her too hard. She has a rather tender belly.”

Katherine’s brow creases.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Liadrin says, with another quick bow, and descends the stairs before anyone can make another swipe at her tunic.

Funny, she’d sworn it was meant to be Jaina who would be… but as long as the child is healthy, and the mothers equally so, Liadrin isn’t going to question. Not when she has a nice Silvermoon Blanc and an even nicer Valeera waiting for her at home.

-0-0-

“How are you feeling?” Jaina murmurs.

Glancing sideways at Lireesa, knelt deep in prayer before _Belore_ at the window, Sylvanas frowns. “I should be asking you that.”

“Sylvanas, remember what I said about communication,” Lireesa says, without so much as twitching an ear in their direction. “You will need to talk, lots, about everything. And you are terrible at talking.”

“So helpful, _minn’da_ ,” Sylvanas mutters. "I'm fine, _dalah_. You’re the one with a baby growing inside her."

Yes. Jaina is. And yet she feels… absolutely no different from before.

Shifting to kneel more comfortably on the bed, Jaina gently lifts Sylvanas’s elbow to wrap the ice-laden towel tighter around it. “She will be nothing more than a speck at present,” she says, as much to reassure herself as Sylvanas. “A pinprick.” In spite of her unease, she can’t help the silly grin that spreads across her face. “A wonderful little pinprick. With silvery eyes and a crooked little grin that shows her top left fang when she’s feeling mischievous.”

Just like the one on Sylvanas’s face, as she shuffles to one side to afford Jaina more room. “Or maybe she will have dimples, and a strong, determined jaw,” she returns. “A brain that whirrs a thousand leagues an hour, and the effortless gift of being the brightest spark in every room she enters.”

But Jaina feels her smile fall away. “I wouldn’t wish that pressure on any child,” she says, and kisses the answering frown off her wife’s face. “Being a bright spark can sometimes feel very dark and lonely. Other children are too apt to shy away from you. No, I would far prefer she be a blur flying through the trees like her _minn’da_ , firing volley after volley into the heart of her target after nary a glimpse of it-”

“Being a blur is all well and good,” Sylvanas murmurs, the fingers of her good hand wrapping round Jaina’s, “until you glance back and realise you have left all your compatriots behind. Or… or that they have taken another route, without you.”

Hot tears sting Jaina’s eyes. Her mouth opens, but all the phrases that come to mind are too trite, too pathetic, for what she wants to say to the woman reclined before her, too small and pale without her extravagant jerkins and brightly-polished armour. So she presses their lips together instead and shows Sylvanas that she understands.

The door flies open and a small horde of shrieking elves knocks the bed halfway across the room in their haste to pile on their sister.

“You’re alright, you’re alright, I told Alleria she would screw it up but you’re _alright-_ ”

“Do you have a headache? I have some healing herbs! Not the ones that Lirath took before he fell in the pond, but I know you, you’re so grouchy when you have a headache-”

“She’ll have a bigger headache in nine months’ time. Wait- did you see any visions of the baby’s face? Maybe she’s a prophet and we didn’t know it! Did you see me as the favourite uncle-”

“ _I can’t breathe,_ ” comes wheezed from beneath the wriggling pile of elf.

“Ohh! She passed out from a lack of air!” Lirath beams proudly round, one finger held aloft. “Yes, air is quite an important part of the _aranel_ \- wait, _menoor_ , she can’t breathe.” And he grabs his sisters by the scruffs of their tunics and shoves them off the bed. “Better?”

“ _Not when it’s your Belore-damned knee in my diaphragm,_ ” Sylvanas coughs.

Jaina takes a step closer but before she can do anything more, Katherine has grabbed him by the scruff of his tunic and hurled him to the floor beside Alleria.

“Now that you have seen your sister,” Lireesa says from the window, surveying the crumpled mess that is her children, “perhaps we could make ourselves useful and go and make some food. Sylvanas will be downstairs once she has recovered from her bout of Lirath.”

Struggling up, Lirath hangs his head. “I’m sorry, Sylvanas,” he mumbles. “It was scary when you were all limp. We were all so excited for the baby and then Jaina was crying and you were so pale and I really thought you might-”

He’s cut off by the gentle rustle of bedclothes as Sylvanas slides to her feet and wraps her arms around his waist. “I’m fine,” she says firmly, squeezing him. “Never better.” Beams, every fang glinting, and reaches for Jaina’s hand to pull her forwards for a gentle kiss on the cheek. “We’re going to be _minn’dae,_ remember.”

Breath short from the warm ache in her chest, Jaina takes the last step to wrap her arms around her bedraggled, heavy-eyed, perfect wife and hold her close. “Yes,” she murmurs, stroking up and down the muscles and curves she has grown to know so intimately. “Yes, we are, _dalah’surfal._ ”

For a moment, it is only them, only Jaina and the softly-smiling elf holding tight about her as Jaina bends her head closer to breathe the soft scent of dew upon forest grasses-

Only for Lirath to throw his arms around them and plant a loud smacker on each of their foreheads before running for the door, ignoring Alleria’s and Vereesa’s huffing as they haul themselves to their feet. “Yes, you are, and I will be the best _onn’da_ ever, no matter what you may or may not have seen in your Alleria-induced vision,” he declares, throwing a hand over his chest. “And to show what a brilliant _onn’da_ I already am, I’m going to go get you your favourite hawkstrider twizzlers!”

Sylvanas’s grin falters. “Actually… actually, Lirath,” she says, one hand going to her belly, “you can have them this time. I don’t really feel like hawkstrider.”

Lirath’s brow furrows.

“That’s rather unlike you, Sylvanas,” Katherine says, voice determinedly even. “Liadrin was quite sure you didn’t hit your head?”

“No, Mother, she didn’t.” Jaina swallows, her fingers tightening on Sylvanas’s. “She… fell on me.”

So quickly that Jaina had hardly had time enough to process what had happened, had trampled a finely embroidered arm in her struggle to brace the dead weight-

“Well, what do you feel like, then?” Alleria tilts her head to one side. “The least we can do is provide you with a supper you’ll eat.”

Sucking air in through her teeth, Sylvanas glances to Jaina. “Some salt-crusted codfish,” she says, and reaches for her wife’s hand. “Fish is good for expectant mothers.”

“ _Dalah_ , you hate fish.” Jaina presses a kiss to her cheek. “Let them prepare something you will actually eat. You go into such a sulk when you don’t eat properly.”

“And when she does,” Alleria mutters, and ducks away from the cushion sailing past her face.

“You asked me what I felt like. I feel like fish.” Sylvanas’s jaw has that determined jut that has Jaina sighing and rubbing across her shoulder blades to try to soothe the tension out of her. “If that is too difficult a request for your no doubt _excellent_ cooking skills, sister-”

“You’ll be getting some salt-crusted fist in a moment-”

“Are we ranger initiates squabbling over whose arrow missed the target?” The ice in Lireesa’s voice has even Jaina shrinking back. “Tonight is for celebrating. We are together as a family, whether we hail from Eversong or Tiragarde. We have had a wonderful party. Sylvanas is absolutely fine…” Those stone-grey eyes land on Jaina, and her sharp features soften, lips curled up. “And my dear Jaina is to give her, and give us all, a beautiful gift in nine months’ time.”

Reluctantly, Jaina disentangles one hand from her wife’s hold to wipe the tear snaking down her cheek.

“Alleria- to the village for some codfish. Lirath, start preparing some vegetables. Vereesa, stop crying, Sylvanas and Jaina will have that more than adequately handled from now on.”

“ _Minn’da!_ ” Jaina tightens her grip as Sylvanas stiffens against her. “That is merely a stereotype-”

“You too might cry if you were hauling a half-elf around in your belly. No, you just wait until you see how much of your salary is about to disappear on toys and books and trips to the Silvermoon Conservation to see the white lynxes _again_ and child-sized replicas of your Ranger-General’s uniform and miniature bows and window repairs because even though you _told_ them they weren’t allowed to hang the target there- trust me. You’ll need a handkerchief.”

Jaina reaches up to tilt Sylvanas’s chin back towards her. “And I regret nothing,” she whispers, and kisses her even as she touches her tummy with two fingers and tries to ignore the creeping dismay at how much she… _feels_ nothing.

-0-0-

_Three months later_

“ANYA! If the aim of this run were to send me to sleep, you would be excelling!” Crouched on her high perch, Sylvanas lifts her blowpipe back up to her mouth and watches Anya struggle her way through the undergrowth towards her. “Your squad mates are already at the stream!”

“Yes, Ranger-General,” Anya pants, and immediately trips over a thorny vine. “Ow,” comes muffled from the ground.

Sylvanas squints, aims, and blows. The squeal from below is enough to tell her her aim was true.

“Go and wash your breeches off,” she calls, foraging in her pouch for another paintball. “Tomorrow, you will meet me at sunrise and we will do some laps of Silvermoon. Understood?”

Anya struggles upright, cheeks almost as red as the carmine paint on the seat of her leggings. “But Ranger-General,” she calls back, straightening her back and wading cautiously through the scrubby grasses, “you and the Lady Proudmoore depart for Kul Tiras in the morning.” She shoots a cheeky grin up at the branch where her commanding officer perches, glaring down at her. “And you are ill-rested enough as it- _ow! Sylvanas!_ ”

“That’s Ranger-General to you, and if you must know, the Lady Proudmoore is travelling alone.” Scowling, Sylvanas jumps down a branch, gritting her teeth against the flare of pain in her lower back. “Stream. Now. You look like a Winter’s Veil tree that Kael’thas decorated.”

“Is your back hurting again? You can’t let her travel alone, she misses you as it-”

“ _Stream,_ Ranger _._ Before I shoot you with something far sharper than a paintball.” Sylvanas bares her fangs, eyes narrowed to silver slits. “ _Now._ ”

The smirk fades from Anya’s pink-splattered face. “Yes, Ranger-General,” she mumbles, and trudges on.

Sylvanas watches her go. Swallows hard against the nonsensical urge to _apologise._ Anya is a meddling brat and too much of a busybody for Sylvanas’s liking, and her impertinence could see them killed on the battlefield… but it is not a battlefield. It is a training exercise. Anya is young, and inexperienced, and equipped with a heart bigger than her mouth, and she should not have snapped at her as she did, and Sylvanas slumps down on her branch, running a hand over her aching head.

“Yes, my back is hurting again,” she says, to nobody. “No, I didn’t sleep last night either. And no… Jaina is not showing.” And she hurls the blowpipe at the ground with a hiss. “I don’t know what went wrong. The failure that I am, I cannot help my own wife. She should be showing.” She sniffs, swipes at her burning eyes with the hand not steadying herself in place. “ _She should be!_ ” she screams at the sky, and claps her hand over her mouth, watery eyes wide.

For a long moment, the forest is silent around her.

Shivering in spite of the eternal sunshine, Sylvanas slowly, carefully, lowers herself to sit on the branch, back propped against the tree trunk. Cups her abdomen as she shifts. Forces herself to calm, sucking in long, deep gulps of air until the tears recede and she’s left staring up at the sky, vision dappled by the leaves swaying above her…

_Ranger-General? Sylvanas?_

Her eyes snap open and she lurches forwards, only saved from tumbling head-first into the undergrowth by Anya’s hand on her chest. “Ranger-General,” Anya murmurs, still bracing her, “it’s a few minutes before midday. We waited for you at the stream but you never arrived.”

Sylvanas blinks sticky eyes. Swallows against her dry throat. Anya’s hair is dripping onto her leggings. “You’re all dismissed for the day,” she mumbles, struggling upright, Anya still holding her. “I expect to hear you have completed some appropriate activities. Report to Velonara and then you are all free to go.” Finding her balance is difficult, head swimming as it is, but she manages to hop down to the forest floor with most of the grace she would expect of herself, tidying her uniform as Anya thuds down behind her. “Initiate Anya,” she says, voice low, “please do not inform Velonara or any of the other Rangers that you found me asleep. It sets a poor example. I am deeply ashamed of myself for showing such inexcusable weakness-”

“I think you should tell Jaina you are not going to Kul Tiras with her and I think you should see Liadrin.”

Sylvanas stops dead. Turns, slowly, to face the elf stood behind her, clutching her bow as though it were the only thing between her and a rabid lynx. “My sincerest apologies, Ranger Initiate,” she snarls. “I must have missed the moment when my marriage became any of your business. And what, furthermore, would I achieve by seeing a priestess, aside from a nice exchange of thinly-veiled insults and a sneering reminder to say my morning prayers?”

“We are… we are w-worried about you, Ranger-General.” _Belore…_ is the girl trembling? “Marrah h-heard you being sick again during the dawn run. You and Jaina have f-fought… you never fight.” Lower lip trembling, Anya drops to one knee, staring down at the forest floor. “I overstepped, Ranger-General, and I am so deeply sorry-”

“I am returning to the Spire now to speak with Jaina.” Anya’s head snaps up, eyes wide. “Ensure the rest of the squad is performing their duties with the alacrity and care I expect of them. Dismissed, Ranger Initiate Anya.” And she stalks away before she can snap at the poor creature again.

“Jaina keeps asking us about you, Ranger-General,” she catches whispered behind her as she marches for home.

There are suitcases already outside, big green-and-gold boxes in a heap as she thuds her way up the steps and into the right most of the Windrunner spires, brushing the last of the leaves out of her cloak as she takes the steps two at a time and bursts in to the sight of Jaina throwing clothes into yet another leather-bound monster on wheels. “Hello,” she says, not quite confident enough to reach out and touch Jaina; not when she looks this frail, not with that scowl on her face when she hears Sylvanas’s voice. “Are you… nearly packed?”

Without looking at her, Jaina jabs a thumb towards the heap of hovering cases by the door. “Nearly. Doesn’t seem I have to put anything in for you.”

Sylvanas flinches. “You should have got one of the servants to come and help you. You shouldn’t be doing any heavy lifting in your-”

“Well you weren’t here to help so you can SHUT UP!” Sylvanas starts as a quill box goes flying into the opposite wall with a dull thunk. “I… oh Tides… Sylvanas, I can’t do this on my…”

They stand in silence. Heavy, painful silence, too thick in the distance between them.

Jaina’s shoulders slump and she starts to cry, great heaving sobs that wrack her body.

Chest aching, Sylvanas turns away from her, even though all she wants is to wrap Jaina in her arms and soothe the pain out of her. Takes one, two steps past her, and picks up the quill box. “Don’t worry,” she says, in a voice too even to be her own. “That box is Kul Tiran. Sturdy as a galleon.” And she holds the quill box out towards her. “Here you go.”

But it is her arm Jaina seizes instead, and pulls her into a hug so tight it knocks the breath from Sylvanas. “Please stop this,” Jaina croaks, her voice broken; Sylvanas’s eyes mist over just at the sound of it. “We have to stop this. We have to talk about this. About why you aren’t coming with me to Kul Tiras. About why you will barely look me in the eye anymore, Sylvanas, is it because- because it failed? I failed?”

“How could you say that?” Sylvanas pulls back, staring up at her. At the face she sits beside the bed to watch sleeping, because Jaina turns her back on her at night now. “Is it such a crime to give you space to… to wait and see? We said, before the _aranel’dorei_ , that we would weather these storms-”

“But you’re hiding from me,” Jaina spits, her grip on Sylvanas so tight it almost hurts. Almost, because Jaina would never hurt her. “How do I keep you by my side, steadying my rudder, if I have to corner your Rangers in some Tides-forsaken pub to find out where you are? And they tell me you are stalking around like a lynx with a sore head, snapping and snarling at them and in the next breath you’re running away to be sick where you think they can’t hear you?” Her fingers clench in Sylvanas’s hair. “I miss you. If it didn’t work, it didn’t work, but what is killing me is waking up every morning to a perfect breakfast tray and an empty bed. You don’t have to be the blur, running ahead in the forest where I can’t find you, you can tell me if you’re sad or if you’re hurting and I wish you would because I miss you so _fucking_ much-”

Sylvanas’s legs falter and she sags against her wife, burying her own tears in Jaina’s neck and gulping in the scent of sea breeze and peacebloom. “And I you,” is all she’s capable of choking out before words are too difficult and Jaina is balancing them both to the bed and they’re falling into the covers, clinging to one another like particularly weepy limpets.

“Tidemother’s arse cheeks,” Jaina whispers, eventually, when their tears have run dry, when they’re slightly too warm in each other’s arms. “We really are shit at communicating.”

“The worst,” Sylvanas murmurs.

Jaina pulls back ever so slightly, enough to look Sylvanas in the eyes. “We need to seek out some advice. You need a nap. We need to fucking talk, _dalah’surfal._ ” She swallows, hard, and strokes up her wife’s back to feel for the curl at the nape of Sylvanas’s neck and tug gently on it. “Oh, Sylvanas. Would that all this were as simple as sailing a ship, eh?”

“I think we’d sink it.”

“I think we would.”

Sylvanas rubs her face against the pillow and summons a watery smile. “Remember what I said about the briny depths,” she croaks. “As long as I have you with me…”

“So stop hiding everything from me. No woman is an island.”

“I feel it might suit me. Inhospitable and difficult to access.”

“I meant you don’t have to try and conquer everything alone, but you make a scarily valid point.” Jaina kisses the tip of her nose and giggles at the perk of her ears. “So,” she continues, her Kul Tiran brogue broad and warm, “where be our first port of call, Helmswoman Windrunner?”

“Priestess Liadrin.” Sylvanas shoves herself upright, rubbing her back; Jaina reaches round to massage it with the heel of her hand. “I made a promise to Ranger Initiate- _mmmm,_ right there… ahhh, yes, down just a… _yes._ ”

She’s so lost in bliss that Jaina’s voice right by her ear makes her jump. “Come now, _dalah._ We mustn’t let you disappoint Ranger Initiate Mmmm.”

Sylvanas pokes her in the ribs.

-0-0-

“Take a seat,” calls Liadrin’s voice from behind a screen embroidered with weeping willows. “My last patient tried to impress Prince Kael’thas by breathing smoke shapes. My first time treating carbon monoxide poisoning, but I doubt it will be my last- oh _Belore,_ it’s you two. I knew I should have waited to open the Dalaran red.”

Clutching Sylvanas’s hand in both of her own, Jaina waits for Liadrin to drop into her chair opposite them. “My wife has been suffering from some lingering maladies since the _aranel’dorei,_ ” she says abruptly, twisting Sylvanas’s wedding band around her slender finger. “Sickness after her morning meals, a sore belly, aversion to the foods she usually enjoys. She tires easily and though she would deny it, I have it on good authority that she is far more irritable and prone to outbursts than usual.”

“Velonara is going to regret putting flour in the hood of my cloak,” Sylvanas mutters.

“It was Marrah, actually. Alina told me about the tantrums.”

“I’ll show them a tantrum when I next-”

“You already did. I paid for the new chandelier.”

A delicate frown on her face, Liadrin glances between the two of them. “Right,” is all she says, tapping her quill on the desk. “Is there anything else?”

_Anything else?_

Jaina’s eyes darken. Sylvanas’s fingers tighten on hers. “Well,” she clips, ignoring the twitch of Liadrin’s ears, “perhaps, if your no doubt _excellent_ healing skills still leave you perplexed by my wife’s ailments, you might also have some ideas as to why the pregnancy does not appear to be… progressing. Why I have yet to feel any development, any movement. Why I have yet to notice any change.”

“What do you mean?” Liadrin leans closer. “I see plenty of development. It is too soon for the child to be kicking, but it is certainly not true to say that nothing has changed-”

“Priestess Liadrin,” Jaina spits, her hand itching to summon her staff. “This is a poor time to test my patience. It is clear to any eye that I have not swelled as a mother should. My stomach is still as flat as Kael’thas’s singing voice.”

Liadrin’s eyes slowly widen.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is the low hum of arcane gathering at Jaina’s fingertips.

“Sylvanas,” Liadrin says suddenly, not breaking eye contact. “On your feet, please.”

Jaw tightly gritted, Sylvanas stands.

“Lady Jaina. I fear we have something of a misunderstanding to clear up.” Liadrin kicks her chair back, sliding smoothly up and placing a hand on Sylvanas’s belly. “Sickness in the mornings.” With her spare hand, she holds up one finger. “Tenderness in her abdomen.” Two. “Fatigue.” Three. “Mood swings, and a certain bulge, right here.”

Wait. Wait- Tides, she doesn’t mean- _Tidemother’s arse cheeks is Sylvanas-_

Liadrin drops her count and reaches for Jaina’s hand, slack on her lap with shock, and presses her fingers to the warm skin of Sylvanas’s stomach. “Perhaps you follow my drift?”

“Oh, _Belore,_ ” Sylvanas gasps, grabbing onto Jaina’s shoulder to stay upright.

“Lady Proudmoore,” Liadrin says, hurriedly steadying Sylvanas with a hand at her waist. “In the nicest possible way, are you _quite_ sure you’re an Archmage?”

Jaina stands on numb feet. Stares, dumb with shock, at the mother of her child.

“I’m going to kill Alleria,” she hisses, and bolts for the door.

“Wait for me!” Sylvanas yells behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long! hope everyone is staying safe out there. <3 i'm on a sitcom writing course and it's given me a bit of a nudge to try to be funny again. so i hope to be updating Travellers soon too.
> 
> mild warning for blood. nobody's actually bleeding, tis just a mention.
> 
> thank you to useless_lesbean for all your help with this chapter, and i hope it entertains :D

“I must say, Sylvanas.” Lireesa takes a delicate sup of her tea, and a less dainty slurp from her hip flask. “You’re taking this with far more calm than I thought you would.”

Her daughter hums, crossing one leg over the other and tearing a strip of hawkstrider jerky off the plate between them. “Jaina is quite the calming influence when she wants to be,” she says, and takes a bite to chew slowly, eyes closed. The midday sun sets her hair agleam. One hand rests against her abdomen, her index finger tapping an idle beat on her tummy. “More so than Liadrin.”

“I believe Liadrin was just a little… taken aback, _dalah._ ”

“She wasn’t the only one.” Sylvanas opens her eyes, regards Lireesa calmly. Too calmly. “I take offence to her questioning of my wife’s intelligence.”

“Liadrin just assumed that maybe, at some point, during Jaina’s doubtless _exhaustive_ studies with the brightest and most brilliant scholars of Azeroth, or perhaps as part of one of those terrifying study sessions within Silvermoon’s archives- who knew Dalaran’s garden gnomes could autonomously instigate guerrilla warfare?- just possibly… she might have picked up the basics of child-bearing.”

“I meant to follow up on the gnomes.”

“And I tried to scrub it from my memory, but alas, I shall never look at garden ornaments the same again.” Lireesa takes another quick gulp from the flask. “Surely there’s a Kul Tiran ditty regarding pregnancy? They seem to have a song for everything, don’t they?”

“There are many for the step before the pregnancy. Jaina sang one to Kael’thas once. Seventeen lines of the lyrics are now banned in Quel’Thalas.” Sylvanas shrugs, leaning back. “It is unimportant now. We will adapt, and we will weather this squall as we have every other, and continue with our duties until… circumstances-”

“Until you are the size of a Lordaeron sow and fit only to slumber in the rocking chair,” Lireesa supplies.

“Yes, _minn’da._ ” Sylvanas opens one eye to glare at her. “Tactful and delicate as ever.”

“I produced you, I can’t be that delicate.”

For a moment, they sit in silence, and Lireesa swallows the last mouthful of her tea and drops her gaze to the gentle swell of Sylvanas’s body. Lets herself wallow, just for a moment, in the memory of little arms tugging at her breeches, of high-pitched cries begging for another strider-back ride from their minn’da, the warm weight of a contented child in her arms as she lowered them into the cot bed by the window…

“Speaking of my offspring, where is Alleria? I would have thought you’d be keen for… a word, with her.”

“Oh, Jaina and I left her tied up in the potting shed.”

“SYLVANAS!” Lireesa’s already scrambling out of her chair and bolting for the shed. “THAT’S NAUGHTY!”

“It’s fine, I’m pregnant,” Sylvanas calls behind her.

“HOW DOES THAT MAKE IT FINE?”

“Pregnant.”

-0-0-

“Welcome home, my darling!” Jaina’s enveloped in an enormous greatcoat-clad hug the moment her feet touch Kul Tiran soil; she manages half an answering squeak past the wax-polished cloth before her mother has dropped her unceremoniously to the ground and rushed past. “And here she is!” A yelp from one side announces that it’s Sylvanas’s turn. “Oh, my dear girl, don’t you look glorious. No waddling around in baggy linen monstrosities for you! Doesn’t she look lovely, Daelin?”

“Jaina always did have the best luck with the catch,” Derek chuckles. “Mind you, she’s using some fine bait.”

Jaina slaps him on the arm. “Finer than yours, briny-buttocks. And what is that scrubby thing on your chin?”

“A bad idea, apparently. Twice now I’ve been mistaken for the kitchen broom.”

Beaming from ear to ear, Katherine gently lowers Sylvanas back down to the ground. “Well,” she says matter-of-factly, though her grin betrays her. “You seem to have taken this in your stride.”

“I’m not sure Alleria would agree with you,” Sylvanas says, rearranging her cloak to dangle rakishly over one shoulder.

“Ah now, Sylvanas. Do not judge yourself for turning to your siblings in your time of need. Daelin runs away from his emotions all the time, it’s practically the only exercise he ever takes-”

“I locked her in a hawkstrider cage and threw stinging nettles at her until she admitted to mixing the names up during the _aranel’dorei_.” Sylvanas smiles coldly. “It was not a protracted investigation.”

In the silence that follows, Tandred slowly steps behind Jaina.

“Sisters!” Katherine chirps, tugging another greatcoat from her satchel and wrapping it about Sylvanas’s Thalassian-gilded shoulders, ignoring her protests. “Your dear wife used to take revenge on her brothers by casting illusions on the hallways leading to their bedrooms. I found Derek on the roof once, convinced he was being chased by a tapestry. And there was the time she made their sweets taste like sprouts. And the time she animated the dining table and- well, I shall tell you more when we are out of the cold.” She reaches to stroke a lock of hair off one high-boned cheek, a softer smile now on her lips. “I expect you will hear it too many times to count, Lady Windrunner, but… you glow. You truly glow. Does she not, Daelin?”

Stood beside the carriage, his gaze on Sylvanas, Daelin nods jerkily. “Aye,” he croaks.

“I’ve already sourced some bolts of Kul Tiras’s finest cotton. Softer than a puppy’s arse! Daelin was building a perambulator, I stopped him after the healer billed us for the first three nailed thumbs, but he has done a grand job of organising the five-gun salute for the child’s birth, haven’t you, dear? And he’s got a spot ready on the family tapestry for- Daelin, are you crying?”

“No,” Daelin sobs.

“Oh, Father!” Jaina rushes to envelop him in a hug. “You daft old mudsnapper! Everything is just fine. Well, a little skew-whiff, but fine.” His head comes to rest against her neck, and she feels him draw in a long, shuddering breath. “I think a cup of tea must be in order,” she murmurs, and gives his back a firm rub before she releases him and steps back to thread her fingers through Sylvanas’s. “Well, shall we?” And she gently tugs her wife towards the carriage.

But their path is blocked when Daelin steps forwards, fiddling with his gilded cuffs. “Lady Sylvanas,” he falters, in a voice that trembles almost as much as his wax-twirled moustache, “as the Lord Admiral of Kul Tiras and the patriarch of House Proudmoore, I would like to offer you my most sincere congratulations on your wonderful news.” He swallows. Draws in a long breath. “And… and as Grandpa Dae, I…” Breaks into a soft, hopeful smile, and quickly wipes a glittering trail from his cheek. “May I please say hello to her?”

Jaina’s throat swells with tears.

“As the Ranger-General of Silvermoon and the Second Scion of House Windrunner, I offer the Lord Admiral my deepest gratitude for his kind wishes.” Sylvanas’s stilted, formal words are at odds with the little grin Jaina can see tugging at the corner of her mouth. Her thumb strokes the back of Jaina’s palm. “And as Sylvanas, the tree-waif Jaina brought home, I must insist she meets her _gai’ann’da_ with all due haste.”

Stiffly, tears now running freely down his face, Daelin bows to her and drops to one knee. Leans a little closer, and- waiting for Sylvanas’s nod- touches the tip of one calloused finger to the cloth covering her belly.

“Hello, starlight,” he whispers.

And far quicker than he bent down, he leaps to his feet, jumps on the carriage and snaps the reins to send the horses snorting and bucking down the road.

“We’ll walk then, shall we?” Katherine yells after him.

-0-0-

“Come on in, Alleria.” Without looking up from the piles of scrolls on her desk, Lireesa motions her into her study. “Take a seat. How is the rash?”

“Oh, you know Sylvanas. She’s very thorough about her punishments.” Scratching at her back, Alleria drops into the chair opposite her mother. “Does a wonderful job of it.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, _Lai’belore._ She couldn’t hit the skin covered by your clothing.”

“Which is why she snuck into the launderette and added a pouch of itching powder to my laundry. Minn’da, it _burns._ ” Her ears twitch at the hastily-stifled noise from her mother. “Are you _laughing?_ ”

“I’m sorry, _dalah._ That really is quite inventive. And to think that soon there will be two of them, no elf will be safe.” Wiping her eyes, Lireesa drops her quill and leans back in her chair to regard her daughter, hands steepled over her abdomen. “No need to look so serious. I only tease you. Did you wish to speak of matters beyond Sylvanas’s new hobby?”

“If you think there is any novelty in Sylvanas torturing me, then think again.” Alleria draws in a breath. Runs a hand through her hair, and forces herself to keep talking. “But… is she not justified? It was my error of speech that put her in this position-”

“An error any elf could have made,” Lireesa interrupts. “Had I conducted the ceremony, it could have been my tongue that faltered. You have known Sylvanas for hundreds of years. Jaina, a scant handful. Of course her name comes easiest to you; she is your sister, you held her as a newborn, and when your Minn’da was away, it was your bed she crawled into after a nightmare and your arms she sheltered in during a thunderstorm.” Pulling herself forwards, she reaches over the desk to lay her hand over Alleria’s. “You’re shaking! I will tell her to leave you alone. Soon her mind will be occupied by a thousand other matters. She will want you to prepare for the child’s coming just as much as she will want Vereesa and Lirath there, and the Proudmoores by her side-”

“Elves die in childbirth.”

In the silence that follows, even the air in Alleria’s lungs feels too heavy to breathe.

Lireesa swallows. Her fingers twitch on Alleria’s. “Yes,” she says, evenly. “It is extremely rare, and your sister, whose health is excellent, will be tended by the finest healers Silvermoon can offer. Please do not tell me you have been dwelling on such a morbid vision, when we have a tiny half-elf getting ready to meet her family.”

“I would, but it would be a lie.” Her chest aches with the effort of holding back her tears. “And if such a scenario did come to pass it- it would be my- I saw it, Minn’da. In a dream. A nightmare. Where she stood abandoned in the tulip fields to the south, and she fell to the muddy ground where the spectre of Death stood above her with sword drawn and she screamed through mouthfuls of blood, and her final moments were agony, and Jaina clutched her ashen corpse in desperation and shrieked that I had killed her and-”

“My dear _Lai’belore,_ you must stop eating dwarven cheese before bed.” She didn’t hear Lireesa creeping out of her chair, yet strong arms encircle her and a hand rubs up and down her spine in long, soothing strokes. “As frightened as you doubtless were, and as sick as you doubtless felt to see such a tragedy befall your beloved sister- it was naught but a night terror. Your own mind playing tricks on you. Do you remember Sylvanas used to have a nightmare every Noblegarden, of mutant rabbits chasing her through the Spire?”

Alleria hiccups, swiping furiously at the tears on her cheeks. Her mother’s warmth and strength is so intensely reassuring that she can feel the stiffness and anxiety draining from her muscles. “How Lor’themar regretted dressing up as the Noblegarden mascot. And yet he never _learned._ Year after year of eggy beatings.” Her eyes meet Lireesa’s. “But… yes. It was a night terror. Just a night terror,” she repeats, a little louder. “Sylvanas is too sensible to venture to the tulip fields without her Rangers. And if she pulls back from active duty, as you are so keen for her to do, she would have no reason to be out there at all.”

“Indeed. So the scenario is baseless. Your sister is too clever and too damned stubborn to let anything happen to her, Alleria.” Gentle lips press a kiss to her forehead. “Turn your energy from worrying to something more productive. I would have thought such an elaborate and uncomfortable prank constituted grounds for some serious payback upon Sylvanas’s return to Quel’Thalas.”

“Ah, Minn’da. How could I be so cruel, to prank my poor afflicted sister so?”

“How indeed.”

“… Do you know where the Noblegarden decorations are?”

“I shall fetch them out immediately.”

-0-0-

“Tell me about your plans,” Katherine says. Her eyes never leave the greatcoat striding up and down the battlement of Proudmoore Keep, two pointy ears sticking out of the top of it. “I trust you have taken your time in thinking this through?”

“Of course, Lord Admiral.” Bending to stare down over the twenty-foot drop to her right, Sylvanas hums, seemingly oblivious to Katherine’s sharp intake of breath. “At the very least, I would install some spiked wire on these walls that stand vulnerable to being climbed-” Sylvanas straightens back up, and Katherine lets out an anxious huff- “and it would also be optimal to have mana-wells up here. Think of the damage a well-fuelled Tidesage could do from these spots.”

“As effective as that may be, that’s not what I-”

“It would be too easy to infiltrate the Keep through these slit windows. Not bodily. Well, not unless you were under siege from gnomes. They make for terrifying foes.” Sylvanas tilts her head to one side, a finger tapping her chin. “But these openings stand prone to magical attacks, or harmful gas, or at the very least subterfuge. Some poison ivy would be preferable to risking your security so openly.”

“Sylvanas, I hear what you’re-”

“Perhaps a partial moat. _Belore_ knows Kul Tiras is- soggy- enough to consistently maintain such a construction.” And Katherine’s heart leaps into her throat as Sylvanas rises onto her tiptoes and peers over the battlements. “I would encourage you to station some of your Guard closer to the ramp down there-”

“Sylvanas!” Katherine hauls her back, ignoring her hiss. “Tidemother’s arse cheeks would you get back on solid ground, I am talking about your plans for the birth!”

“I know!” Sylvanas shouts. “That’s why I am avoiding the subject!”

“And at what point would you like to address it? In four months’ time? Five? Six? Perhaps when the child is crowning! You can make do with a very simple plan at that point: _push._ ”

Scowling, Sylvanas tugs at the collar of the greatcoat until only her narrowed eyes and proud nose are visible. It gives her the impression of a particularly grumpy tortollan. “Neither myself nor my _minn’da_ have spoken of the… birthing process, yet. We are far better versed in military processes than biological ones,” she mutters into the waxcloth, and fumbles for the chest pocket and a piece of tightly-folded parchment. “Here. Jaina began working on it on the way in to Boralus. I haven’t dared look yet.”

Brow furrowed, Katherine takes it to unfold, squinting down at her daughter’s spidery handwriting. “ _Research methods of enchanting hand to be impervious to pain. After the birth, if baby is screaming, step 1: pat firmly on back. (This is also applicable to Sylvanas.) If Sylvanas is screaming, step 1: Hook Point porter. (This is not applicable to the baby.)_ By the Tides, is this all she’s thought of so far?”

“I will have to have a stern word with her.”

“You will indeed.”

“I mean, Hook Point porter? Jaina knows I would accept nothing less than Whitegrove blanc. My finely-nurtured elven palate is insulted today.” Sylvanas sniffs, glaring up at the sky. “And to add to my grievances, your delightful island is about to rain on my head.”

“You were given an umbrella when you arrived.”

That earns her an unimpressed look. “I would sooner be sodden to the bone than lug one of those infernal sticks around with me.”

“You trapped your ears in it again, didn’t you?”

“Yes and it hurt.”

Katherine simply shoves the solid wooden door to her right wide open, motioning for Sylvanas to walk on ahead of her. “My study should be umbrella-free enough to suit your tastes. I will talk you through what you must know, and we will have a proper, workable, solid plan to present to Jaina by dinner, how does that sound?”

But Sylvanas’s steps pause at that, glancing sideways at Katherine. Her ears are canted at that half-wilt that Katherine has learnt to mean uncertainty. “You will find me a frustrating student,” she says, quietly, and clasps her hands behind her back. “If you wish to delegate this back to my own mother, and return the subject to something less intimate, I am more than content to-”

“None of that daftness, you silly mudsnapper. And though I love her for as long as stars do shine, there’s a part of me that is glad I’m not doing this with Jaina… she does so _analyse_ everything.” Katherine shudders. “When she became a young woman, Daelin thought to have _the talk_ with her. By the time I got home, Derek was day-drinking, Tandred had a bag packed to run away and Daelin was organising a six-week voyage to Tel Abim to ‘become one with the local produce’. And the cat didn’t come back for _months._ So! Where shall we start?”

Herded along by Katherine’s arm in hers, Sylvanas glances mournfully down to her stomach. “The Hook Point porter is starting to sound ever more appealing,” she mumbles in mournful Thalassian. “You had better be worth it.”

-0-0-

“It looks like a ship,” Jaina says.

Crouched beside the bow of the perambulator, Dorian Atwater offers her a gimlet-eyed glare. “Aye,” she grunts. “I’m a shipwright. Don’t do babies. Do ships.”

“I can see that.” Doubtfully, Jaina runs a hand over the smooth bend of the planks forming the bed. “The shape is a little… nautical, but I commend you for your attention to detail. Not a splinter in sight.”

Though her nostrils pinch disdainfully, Dorian’s chest puffs out, just a little. “’Tis a matter of pride,” she mutters. “No rough planks or sharp scuffs on my vessels. Nothing for little fingers to poke and prod and trap themselves in. Or big burly sailors. Tides know how much they’ll whinge, even for a little parchment cut.” She turns, squinting at Jaina. “And since I was all but harried off my farm to come salvage your father’s pet project, may I enquire when yer little bosun is due?”

Rubbing the lace sun-shield between two fingers, Jaina feels her lips curl into a soft smile. “This is very luxurious lace for a _pet project_ , Dorian… in the late summertime. It’s possible she will arrive with the autumn. A little Harvest Festival present.”

Dorian’s eyes don’t leave the lace when she answers. “Well, my heartiest commiserations to you both. You must let me know what you call her. I’ve a handsome galleon in construction without a name.”

Jaina’s smile widens. “Thank you, Dorian, I shall- if you tell us when the launch is.” She eases herself upright, running her fingers over the perambulator’s carved oak handles. “I know the sum my father agreed upon for payment, and it will be doubled. May you have a pleasant journey home to-”

“Have you got a cot?”

Jaina stops short. “A cot?”

“Them things babies sleep in. I thought your mother said you were clever.”

“Perhaps I should be concerned,” Jaina grumbles. “Uh. No, actually, but I’m sure we can-”

“SAL!”

The door to the parlour flies open and Sal Atwater pokes his wizened head round, an indulgent smile on his lips. “Yes, my dearest?”

“We’ll be needing more oakwood. And lacquer. Tell ‘em if they dare try to palm me off with anything less than Fernwood’s finest, I’ll put leaks in their dinghies for the rest of their soggy little lives. Love you, treacle pie.”

“Love you too, my apple tart.” Sal takes a hearty slurp from his teacup, offers Jaina a toothy grin, and reaches for his boots as the door swings shut again.

Clearing her throat, Dorian clasps her hands behind her back. “Well then, Lady Proudmoore, if everything’s in order-”

“NO NO NO NO NO!” There’s a thud and a yelp from Sal as the parlour doors crash open again and a wild-eyed Sylvanas sprints past and leaps through the open window to vanish into the maze. “I DON’T WANT IT TO DO THAT!”

“I’m sorry, Jaina,” her mother’s voice pants; Jaina swerves back to the sight of a ruddy-faced Katherine picking a tea-sodden Sal up off the rug. “I thought she was coping quite well, until we began to broach the biological side of it…”

With a long, gusting sigh, Jaina digs a hand into the pouch hanging from her belt and brings out a slightly squished bag of Thalassian honey cakes. “Do we have any soured cream?”

Katherine’s face scrunches up. “Yes, but that’s just wrong.”

“If you want to be the one to argue it with her, Mother, you be my guest.” Setting her shoulders, Jaina waves a quick hand to dry Sal’s shirt and marches through into the kitchens to rifle through the fridge for the pot of soured cream. “If we’re not back by dusk, put Tandred on the roof and tell him to make his bird noises.”

“Is that some Farstrider thing that I’m too sensible to understand?”

“No, we just follow the laughter.” And, snacks in hand, she nudges the rear door open with her shoulder and strides along into the maze.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the rabbit nightmare is mine. (if you fancy a similar nightmare, search for the 'Brer Rabbit' ride at Oakwood Theme Park in Wales, UK. it was like Five Nights at Freddy's before Five Nights at Freddy's existed.)
> 
> thank you for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> loose translation of alleria's reading:
> 
> 'by the light of the sun, bound by magic, bound by love. by the valour of the children of the sun, and the justice of the goddess Belore, bear her serenity and the guidance of the forest'
> 
> 'mothers (together) create their own magic and power. by flame, by ash, by the forest's power.'
> 
> 'travellers, lovers, mothers. children of valour. bid farewell to peace. welcome your own medivh (keeper of secrets)'
> 
> (it's hard to write poetry with half a dictionary)


End file.
